100 Themes Challenge
by BreathOfNocte
Summary: Collection of dribblings with no perceivable similarities. Mostly JS, but not always centered on the couple themselves. Will probably be fluff, will almost certainly be goblins, and perhaps even drama/angst/general melancholy. Updated sporadically.
1. 72: Mischief Managed

**Disclaimer: ***Rustles in pockets* Wait, wait... I think I have it somewhere... Uhm... No. Alright. Well, until I find my in no way illegally procured documents proving ownership of Labyrinth, we're just gonna have to say no, I don't own.

Challenge # 72: Mischief Managed

* * *

Several sets of bobbly little eyes peered out from under the kitchen table, watching as the odd bits of debris fluttered around, with no small amount of belated apprehension.

On the up side, it had worked.

On the down side, it had worked _really well_.

As the last snatches of sponge and soap settled down and the few remaining vanilla-scented bubbles wafted to their doom, there was a deceptively serene silence around the kitchen. The bobbly eyes flicked toward each other nervously, undecided if moving further into the shadows to avoid discovery was worth missing the show.

And then the hollering started, and they decided it was.

Amid the darkles and dimness, several pairs of anxious, orb-like eyes faded from Here Above and shifted to There Below, where Erlking was waiting, tapping a foot in an imperiously irritated manner.

His winged brow arched, like a predator's wing as it fell on its quarry.

The eyes bobbled fearfully.

"Her sink jus' exploded-"

"We was only watching, din' do nothing to it-"

"Have no _idea_ why it caught fire, neither-"

"And we din' magic the sponge, it attacked on it's own-"

"But it's okay, she had a pan-"

"Really whacked it, kinda unnecessary hard-"

"But she aimed real good, put the fire out-"

The other brow joined it's strike-poised companion.

"So, your venture was a success, I gather," Erlking said.

The anxious little orbs glanced between each other, and after a moment bobbled affirmatively.

Erlking's lips quirked amusedly. "Congratulations."


	2. 44: Two Roads

**Disclaimer : **I own nada. Zilch. Zero. Not even lint from Henson's pocket.

Challenge # 44 : Two Roads

_

* * *

It's really up to you._

The youth scoffed. "Bull."

_You know I'm telling the truth. I can't influence you._

"Again, bull. You can't _force_ me. You can influence me all you want. And given that you're several centuries older than me, smarter than me, and _way_ better at manipulation, there isn't much difference," he said, sweeping his blonde curls out of his face. Mismatched eyes watched the giant oak drip it's lifeblood onto the ground, it's crimson castoff nearly obscuring the dying grass he sprawled on, where it dried and crackled underfoot until winter hid the remains of it's slow, macabre death.

The old voice was silent for a few moments. The boy closed one eye, peering at the world, then switched, trying to tell if his blue eyes saw more blue-tinted colors, and likewise his green eye.

_Sarah would like you to._

"That's so blatantly false I don't even think it counts as bull. She'd never ask me to come in a million years," he refuted, picking up a fallen leaf and twisting it between his slender fingers. "Don't think that just because I can't see her anymore, I don't _know _her." His tone was accusatory.

_I am not obstructing her._

"Your rules are."

_They are rules I must abide by as well, and are not of my making. You know this._

"Funny how they always seem to work in your favor, though."

_Rules are not made to be universally convenient. I merely adapt better._

The leaf crumbled. The boy flicked his fingertips, discarding the blood-stained fragments of the oak's carcass.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to leave."

_You knew you could not walk both roads forever._

The boy said nothing, squinting as he watched the ruddy sun slip behind the horizon. Shadows snickered to life, flicking past their casters excitably.

_It's time. Choose._

He took a deep breath. Would the air smell the same? Would that sharp, crisp scent of impending winter still edge the night air?

"I wish the goblins would come and take me away, right now."


	3. 79: Starvation

**Disclaimer: **Ich bin nicht eigenen.

Challenge # 44: Starvation

* * *

"Now you're just being cruel. This isn't fair, and you know it."

Jareth tutted. "Now, Sarah, you're being unreasonable. If you'll recall, I _did_ offer you a-"

"Oh shove off, you primpy, pompous twit," she snapped, folding her arms tightly over her stomach. "You're a jerk, you know that?"

Jareth pouted, but his eyes were glinting merrily. He was enjoying himself. Sarah scowled.

"I am an opportunist," he corrected. She glared violently.

"You're a slimy squeeb, that's what you are. And you _will not_ win. I'll eat my own shoe first."

Jareth cocked an eyebrow, and Sarah's toes suddenly found themselves naked.

"Hey!"

"Well, I can't very well have you resorting to snacking on your footwear, my precious thing. It would throw quite a wrench in my plans."

"It was an expression, Jareth! And even if I _was_ going to eat something I was wearing, it _certainly_ wouldn't be my _shoes-"_

Jareth grinned, and Sarah squeaked.

"_Jareth!_"

"Simply protecting my interests, love," he said easily, making no effort to disguise his interest in the new, greatly improved in his opinion, scenery.

"I _demand_ that you give my clothes back!"

"No," Jareth answered, with some amount of amusement.

Sarah sputtered for a few moments, feeling her blood set her face alight and trying to cover any bit of exposed skin that seemed to catch Jareth's attention. She needed more arms. Jareth took pity on her after a moment, and leaned forward, reaching out a hand invitingly. A crystal slithered along his fingertips.

"I'll make you deal, princess. Even exchange - your clothes, if you take a bite."

Sarah eyed him angrily. "I'm not hungry."

"That's quite the opposite of what you were fairly screaming two minutes ago," Jareth chided.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine, I'm starving. I could eat a whole cow and still want a sundae, but I will _not_ eat _that_. And that's final."

Jareth grinned lecherously. "I was hoping you'd say that." His eyes made a journey out of her legs, and Sarah squirmed uncomfortably for a few interminable moments, and suddenly reached out, snatching the crystal and holding it gently as the hard surface turned to malleable flesh.

"_Alright!_ One bite. And I'm not staying here. And I expect my clothes. Immediately," she relented. Jareth smirked.

"As you wish, my love."

Sarah bit into the soft, fuzzy fruit, inwardly delighting as the springtime taste, too strong to be natural, flooded through her mouth, tingled over her tongue as the magic took hold -

_There's such a sad love,_

_Deep in your eyes…_


	4. 32: Night

**Disclaimer: **Ik heb geen eigen. (Yeah, guess what language THAT is.)

Challenge # 32: Night

* * *

Sarah took a deep breath, filling her lungs until her throat felt dry from wind passage and her chest ached from the expansion, and held it for a long as she could. Humidity had made he air heavy and damp, and her hair clung to her sweaty skin as she stood staring at the night sky. Her shoulder rested on the windowsill, soaking in the pleasant coolness from the stone and replacing it with the heat of her body, ridding herself of the oppressive warmth.

He didn't make a sound as he approached behind her, but it made no difference. She could feel his nearness as though the two of them were magnetized, and her skin reacted to the polarized pull of his presence by rippling with goosebumps.

Long, slender fingers crept around her waist, pleasantly cool against her bare skin even in the heat, and settled on her hipbones. She leaned back into him, reveling in his pleasantly chilled skin. He slid his arms and hands over her stomach, her arms, her shoulders, as though taking pleasure in her warmth compared to his coolness. Her head rested back on his shoulder, and she smiled contentedly.

_My love._ She thought.

_My precious thing._

His arms tightened, as though affected by the unspoken words, and he led her back to their bed.


	5. 68: Hero

**Disclaimer: **Não possuo. (Eh? Anyone? :D)

* * *

Jareth was dying.

His head was on the verge of exploding, cleaving in two and spilling his insides like some macabre piñata. Every _single_ muscle in his body was alive and burning, the nerve endings battling for attention over each other. The Sahara desert had taken up residence in his throat, parched and searingly painful, the tender skin cracking bleeding when he coughed.

All that he had conquered, all that had fallen to his will, and he was going to be done in by _this_.

Footsteps sounded behind him, thunderously loud and sharp on the stone, rebounding around in his breaking skull cruelly. He weakly waved an arm, trying to stave the approacher off.

"Leave me…" he whispered through his ruined throat.

"Oh, for Hoggle's sake, Jareth, quit being a baby. Here, sit up," Sarah said, slipping an arm beneath his withered frame and forcibly hauling him upright. The movement made his vision swim and his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

"Now, drink this. Slowly," she commanded, holding a straw before his lips. Dry and stiff as they were, it took a moment for his lips to cooperate, but he managed to close them around the bit of plastic, and pulled gently.

Sensation flooded his mouth, cool and lovely, lightly flavored with vanilla and honey, and trickled down his throat as he swallowed, leaving renewed skin in it's wake.

He sighed, leaning back, his eyes closed. Clinking glass sounded on the bedside table, and something cool and damp pressed itself to his forehead. He was surprised it didn't sizzle as it came in contact with his scorching skin. Jareth felt himself being repositioned as the bed moved under him, and he cracked an eye.

Sarah sat next to him under his blanket, unheeding of his near nudity, and patted her lap invitingly. "Come here. Lay back."

He did as he was told, and her lovely, long fingers ran through his hair, easing the pressure on his skull and tingling along his scalp.

He sighed contentedly. "My hero," he whispered. Sarah chuckled.

"Hush. Go to sleep."

* * *

**AN:** So, this one has a backstory. I mostly wrote it because I'm sick. And pouty.

Basically, when I'm ill, I like to be pampered and pitied. (Whatever. Don't judge me.) And, as I am an adult, this generally frowned upon, and made difficult due to the fact that Mum is no longer just down the hall. However, I am not one easily thwarted by such technicalities, so I called my mum up. This is how the conversation went.

*Cough*"Mum? I'm sick."

"And?"

"...I don't feel well..."

"Oh, Christ, Nessa, suck it up. Make yourself some soup and take a nap."

_Click_

It was devastating. But, after I picked myself back up, I called my best friend's mum, with much better results.

"Miss Sherri? I'm sick. *sniffle-cough*"

"Oh, baby. I'll be right over. You just hang tight."

She promptly came to my rescue with vanilla-chamomile-honey tea and alphabet soup, and gave me a damp washcloth and played with my hair until I fell asleep.

Why couldn't I have been _her _offspring?


	6. 6: Break Away

**Disclaimer: **Je ne possède pas. (Alright, this one is sort of easy.)

Prepare for angst, in three...two...one...go-

* * *

She would never leave.

_Even if you reach the center, you'll never get out again._

Her room was mocking her. It _looked_ like her room, but it wasn't. It never was, and it never would be. It was _his_ room, because this whole world was_ his_, and everyone she talked to was _him_, and it was driving her mad.

It wasn't fair.

_You know what your problem is? You take too much for granted._

She'd thought she could just win. Just win, and that would be that. No more danger, no more hardships. She was the heroine. The heroine always lived happily ever after, right?

_I wonder what your basis for comparison is._

Her mirror was reflecting things that shouldn't be there. A russet sky over a field of stone. She blinked. It was still there. It always had been, and it always would be. She had won.

It wasn't fair.

_You know what your problem is? You take too much for granted._

She hurled her brush at the mirror, crying as it shattered and knowing it meant nothing.

_You'll never get out again._

She'd never get out again.


	7. 20: Fortitude

**Disclaimer:** Non proprio. (This is such a cool language.)

I always thought it took quite a bit of fortitude on Sarah's part not to simply toss the goblins out the window, install an electric fence, and have done with it.

* * *

Sarah massaged her temples, and debated on whether or not it would just be easier to turn around, walk away, and move to Jamaica.

There were goblins in her apartment again.

She could hear them on the other side of the door, shrieking and laughing, accompanied by what sounded like a fifty pound mechanical infant throwing a temper-tantrum. She stood frozen, her hand clenched on the door knob, torn between the desire to rush in and save whatever may be salvageable and the overwhelming dread of what she would find when she opened the door.

Taking a deep breath, (_you can do this),_ she squared her shoulders (_you defeated a king, this is nothing)_ and opened the door (_dear God, please let my dishes be unbroken)_ and stepped inside, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

It wasn't hard.

In her kitchen, a line of sudsy goblins were utilizing the linoleum-tiled floor's ability to double as an ice rink.

"Oh, Lady Sarah!" squeaked Gimp as he slid particularly close to her legs. At least, she assumed it was Gimp - he was so laden with bubbles she was only just able to make out his teapot. "Hiya!"

"Uh, hey, Gimp," she said weakly, looking around her poor kitchen. The small closet-like space that held her washer and dryer was overflowing with bubbles, as the washing machine shook and rocked enthusiastically, as though trying to escape the goblins. Soap suds cascaded down from the top, spilling over to coat the goblins below it and extending out into the kitchen.

Gingerly making her way to the spasm-ing machine, she began concocting a battle plan for restoring order to her home, and as she switched off the washer, she quietly wished she had just moved to Jamaica.


	8. 73: I Can't

**Disclaimer: **Я не є власником. (Yeah, you'll NEVER guess this one. :D )

Challenge # 73: I Can't

* * *

As I shake out another sleeping pill, I wonder how long it's been since I've slept unaided. Sixty-seven months? Seventy? I sigh. Not that it matters. What matters is how many more I have to go. I will use sleeping pills to block the dreams for the rest of my life - but how long is that?

_It's only forever, not long at all,_ I sing to myself.

Chewing the tablets helps them work faster, and a snifter of whiskey helps with the taste. I glance at my clock. Thirteen minutes and counting. I pass the time by imagining all the different ways I could destroy a ball gown.

_Sarah, must you really?_

I realize I've drifted. Hovering as I am between consciousness and dreamless sleep, I'm vulnerable. Careless of me. Should have paid better attention.

"Are you expecting an answer?"

_I grow tired of this game, Sarah._

"Really not a game from my position. In fact, this is sort of an anti-game."

_Why must you continually deny me? What have I not offered you? _

"My freedom."

_You realize that would contradict my interests, I trust._

"Only if you look at it like that. I think it serves them pretty well, from my point of view. Look at it like this: You don't have to put up with my irritating resistance every night, and I can stop spending a fortune on sleeping aids."

_I am not amused. _

"I wasn't joking."

He's silent for a few moments, and I get the feeling he's trying to school himself to peace. I hope it takes him a few minutes - the steady, pulsing undertow of the sleep meds are starting to tug at me, and it can't be long before it's to strong for him to counter.

_I've moved the very stars for you, Sarah. I've done everything to prove myself. I cannot let you go. You know that I have tried._

It seems he realizes he is short on time. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

_Stop. Do not trivialize me. I am the most powerful being you have ever met, and I've offered myself at your feet. Please, Sarah. Surrender to me._

His voice is strained. Hurt. Desperate. I know all these feelings. A part of me, and not a tiny part, either, is still in love with him, with his magic, with his very existence.

But I know the price of surrender. And I know of an immortal's whims. Forever actually _isn't _long at all, when you have an infinite amount of forevers before you.

It hurts me a little, too, when say it. But it's the only answer I can give.

"I can't."

* * *

The emptiness she retreats to shields her again, and he clenches his jaw over an anguished scream of impotent rage.

He cannot do this forever.

* * *

**A/N: **Aaaaaand cue sympathy for Jareth.

...Poor guy.


	9. 99: Solitude

**Disclaimer: **Alright...I'm sort of running out of languages... Moi Don't-eth Own-oh Nada.

Challenge # 99: Solitude

* * *

The ability to control time is probably the only thing that makes this job tolerable.

At present, there are three goblins wrestling (and losing to) a chicken in my throne room, accompanied by a betting pool and an open bar. It's an almighty mess.

Fortunately, I possessed the ability to slow the passage of time enough to escape unscathed as their antics moved onto my lap, and when I say unscathed, I actually mean that I was kicked in the jaw, elbowed in the stomach, and have feathers in places they should never be - but am not missing any important limbs.

The goblins will be chastised for this.

And by chastised, I mean tossed into the Bog and left to figure out why it is a Bad Idea to wrestle chickens in the King's lap until I forget why I'm peeved with them.

In a moment, I will twist my fingers, and chaos will resume around me. Fairies will flit around and nip at my sleeves, Hogbreath will notice my presence and scramble for cover, and unpleasantly violent crashes and squawks will issue from the direction of my throne room.

Right now, however, I am going to walk through my favorite part of my garden and sit by the fountain, enjoying the still silence of a frozen world, where nothing and no one save for myself moves. Despite it's unclean, rowdy inhabitants, the Labyrinth is actually quite beautiful. My own little paradise, removed from time and set aside, like a painting of a favorite dream.

I wish Sarah could have seen it like this. Perhaps she would have stayed. Then again, perhaps not.


	10. 95: Advertisement

**Disclaimer**: Uhm... gnihtyna nwo t'nod I.

Yeah.

... or haey, I suppose.

Challenge #95 : Advertisement

* * *

"No," Sarah objected firmly, hands on her hips and that defiant little _go ahead and argue, I dare you_ gleam in her eyes. Jareth had long ago realized that this look was a warning, not an invitation, but really couldn't help himself. He just… liked a challenge.

"I hardly see the problem here, precious thing," he said patiently, leaning against the wall and allowing his shirt to drape open in a manner he'd found was nearly guaranteed to catch her attention.

She spluttered for a moment, deliberately looking around at everything but him. He smirked a little.

"_Hardly see the problem?_ Everyone who isn't _blind_ can _see the problem!_ It's like a freaking foam finger, waving 'hello' from your pants!" What an interesting comparison. Jareth decided to be flattered. "And quit smirking like that!"

"Bit of a double standard, isn't it, my love? Hardly fair that _you_ may romp around in those aboveground 'jeans', flaunting your decidedly well-shaped rear at anyone who should care to look - and I promise you, darling, every male you pass by cares to look - while _I_ must alter my entire wardrobe, not to do the same?"

Sarah flushed prettily at the compliment. Jareth found it sweet that he could still make her blush.

"That's not the same," she argued.

Jareth simply cocked an eyebrow in reply.

"It's _not_! I mean, for one thing, my behind is …well, _behind_ me, and therefore not a distraction of any sort while I am talking to skanky princesses. And I do not _flaunt_ my butt."

"I beg to differ, princess," Jareth said, and let his eyes grow hooded. Sarah flushed deeper, and he saw her shift her hips unconsciously while she remembered the previous night.

"Fine. I don't _flaunt_ for anyone but you," she clarified, her emerald-fire eyes still glowing. Jareth felt himself reacting, and not for the first time wished that she would wear skirts more often. Ravishing her against random walls in his castle was much easier that way. And he didn't get in trouble for ripping her jeans to shreds.

"There! And then there's _that_, which seems to happen whenever I am in the same room as you for more than three minutes, and if _that_ isn't blatant advertising, then I-"

"I propose a compromise, Sarah. You wear dresses more often, and I will wear my 'second skins' correspondingly less," he offered impatiently, ready for this conversation to be concluded. There were things to be seen to.

Sarah blinked. "Oh. Uhm. I guess that's fair-"

Jareth reached forward, pulling her against his chest and firmly squeezing her waist. She gave a pleased squeak.

"Settled, then," he said, and grinned rakishly as he spun her towards the wall, hiking her lips up to his height and preventing any further distractions from tumbling out of her mouth.


	11. 98: Puzzle

**Disclaimer: **Iway on'tday ownway anythingway. (Can't beat the classics.)

Challenge # 98: Puzzle

* * *

"Quit looking at the box! That's _cheating!_" objected the boy, snatching the telling piece of cardboard away from his playmate. The accused man frowned.

Sarah peeked her head in the room as she walked by, a basket of laundry on her hip. "He's right, you know. It's not as fun if you look at the box while you do it."

"Well, how else are we supposed to be sure everything is placed properly?" Jareth demanded, gesturing at the hopeless mess of tiny jigsawed pieces scattered about the floor. The boy looked at him as though he were a bit on the dim side.

"The pieces will fit together if it's the right ones," he explained. "Duh." He picked up two pieces at random, and shoved them together. While they held to each other passably, there were gaps in the curves and the colors on the respective pieces didn't match. "See, this doesn't fit. So it's not the right ones." Toby dropped the ill-matched pieces from shoulder height, and they broke apart as they hit the floor.

"But these," he said, picking up two other pieces, both with a flat edge and similarly colored tops, "fit just right. So these go together. See how it's perfect?" He dropped these two, and they bounced once on impact, but clung resolutely to one another despite the adversity. Jareth watched intently. "Now you try."

Jareth inspected the pieces for a moment, before choosing a rounded, asymmetrical piece and another with rather sharper edges, but a softly curved, concave side. They clicked into one another with a little resistance at first, but held firmly once in place. Toby smiled.

"Perfect." He held up a small, odd-looking organically shaped piece with a hook on one side, and handed it to Jareth. "Now find a piece for this one."

They continued for a while, exchanging and matching and discarding in companionable silence. Sarah came and sat with them, snuggling into the space beneath Jareth's arm that seemed to have been precisely shaped with her in mind. He wrapped an arm around her and felt the warm contentment her company always generated.

"Here, this one fits with your piece," she said, and deftly slid the two together, then matched them to their proper place with another grouping in the larger picture. Toby glanced at the two of them, and smiled to himself.

_Perfect.

* * *

_**AN: **I just wanted to say that I REALLY love the reviews I get from you guys! Especially for something as off-the-wall as these little snippets; it really makes my day. :D**  
**


	12. 17: Blood

**Disclaimer:** Oh! Look! A distraction to keep you occupied while I commandeer the rights to all of Henson's creations!

This one is a little bit AU - There's only like a six or seven year age difference between Sarah and Tobes, and Toby is a martial arts whiz. Just cause.

Challenge # 17: Blood

* * *

It didn't take long to find the brute. He was right where Sarah had said he'd be, chatting to a group of boys his age clumped around the Wishing Tree.

"Hey," Toby snapped, storming up to the black-haired boy in the letter jacket. "You Jeff Garner?"

The jock turned around, eyeing the slender youth challenging him with mild amusement. What did he think he was doing? He looked like he was barely into middle school.

"Yeah. What do you want, pipsqueak? Looking for a social ladder boost?"

Toby growled, narrowing his eyes.

"I want to talk to you for a minute. Alone." The group of friends behind him chuckled.

"Little man's got a bone to pick," laughed one of the other idiots.

"I'll settle this, guys. Be right back," Jeff said easily, and followed Toby as he walked a few feet away.

"Alright, what's up, tough guy?" Jeff asked causally.

Toby punched him in the nose.

"I want you to lay off my sister," he snarled.

Jeff reeled from the blow, and shook his head, glaring at the young blonde. "You just picked the wrong fight, kid," he said. Toby rolled his eyes.

"Puh-lease. I spar with a guy you couldn't conjure out of your worst nightmares three times a week. You're about as menacing as a cupcake, compared to him."

Jeff yelled, charging for the mouthy little brat like he was a quarterback in overtime.

Toby grinned. This oughta be fun.

* * *

"God, Toby, I can't believe you did that! Jeff is a _senior. _He could have _pummeled_ you," Sarah chastised, gently dabbing the blood off of her little brother's scraped knuckles.

He shrugged. "Well, I couldn't just let him get away with what he did. I mean, you're my _sister_."

Sarah paused, looking at her baby brother with that mushy, impending-hugging-and-crying look she sometimes got, and Toby panicked. "I mean, it would totally damage my reputation if my sister was known as 'the chick Jeff-'"

She wrapped her arms around him, and he groaned in exasperation.

"C'mon, Sarah, cut it out! I'm in enough pain already, I don't need humiliation piled on top," he complained.

"You're probably just about the coolest person I know," she sniffled, and Toby decided maybe he could tolerate _one_ hug.

* * *

**AN:** Figured any Mayhem Abounding readers lurking out there might find this amusing. :)

Wik - Awwww... I wish _my_ brother would stick up for me like that... Alas, not only could he care less about my guy problems, but he would so get his wimpy little ass kicked. Oh well.

Also Wik - Kind of on a Toby kick. He's a fun little booger.


	13. 31: Flowers

**Disclaimer: ...  
**

**Jareth - **Sorry, the author is currently chasing some transparent looking fellow who's clutching a sheaf of papers. They both look decidedly silly. Anyways, the company and I belong to the transparent fellow, not the raving lunatic chasing him.

Yaaaay! Shopping tiem!

Challenge # 31: Flowers

* * *

"Karen, it's floral printed."

My stepmother huffed, proffering her dress selection in the vain hope that I would suddenly lose my common sense and vanity and actually accept it.

"Oh, Sarah, it's a very flattering style. And what's wrong with flowers?"

"No, not flowers. _Floral print._ A few flowers here and there on it would be fine. _This_ looks like it's been made out of Gramma's duvet."

"Well, you certainly aren't wearing that scrap of a dress _you _picked out," she retorted, folding her garment over her arm for a later attempt at persuasion. I held up my own dress, looking it over critically.

"Why not? What's wrong with it?" I demanded. Mine was gorgeous - a green silk halter dress that left my back open and fell to about mid-thigh, with a gathered scoop-neck and a sprinkle of sequins. Karen scoffed at my choice.

"You'd look like a high-priced courtesan," she sniped. I cast a glower at her.

"Well, fine, then. Let's let Jareth decide," I proposed. Karen nodded, a triumphant gleam in her eye.

"Yes, let's."

I smirked. Obviously, she didn't realize the effect that the sight of my legs in heels had on my fiancé. Her floral abomination didn't stand a chance - it covered half-way down my calves. Granted, Jareth and Karen did agree on most fashion choices (to an extent), but this was really a no-brainer.

We called Jareth over, each confident in our selections, and waited with smug assurance for him to choose.

He sauntered over and listened to our dilemma, and carefully considered both dresses as I modeled them. Then he snapped his fingers and smiled.

"Wait just a moment. I have just the one," he said, and promptly disappeared into the racks for a moment. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously - there was no option 'C'. He was supposed to be limiting himself to 'A' and 'B', not adding his own…

He returned shortly, handing me a dress and ushering me into the changing room. I came out in a gorgeous ankle-length gown of some shiny, slick, dark-green fabric that glittered even without the aid of sequins. Tiny flowers wound around my hips and bust, embroidered delicately along a slit in the side that ran nearly up to my thigh. I smirked. Jareth not only got his legs, but Karen's approval in the mix.

"Oooh, Jareth, it's lovely," she cooed, touching his arm and resting her head on his shoulder in a repulsively flirtatious manner. Honestly, she already _had_ Dad, did she really need to-

"Lovely indeed," Jareth agreed, and all thoughts of my stepmother vanished instantly at his tone. His eyes were doing that hungry-glowy thing again, and a shiver ran up my spine as he dragged them over me.

"Oh, well, we're going to have to get you a padded bra to wear, Sarah," Karen said, stepping forward and trying to flatten my nipples back out.

And there went any feelings of arousal.

Jareth covered a laugh and winked at me as I sent him an accusing glare over her head.

* * *

**AN:** My mother. She's done this to me before.

It's _so embarrassing._


	14. 13: Misfortune

**Disclaimer: ***Huff, pant* Wow. *Gasp* Henson's pretty fast, for an old dead guy... *Wheeze*

Challenge # 13: Misfortune

**WARNING: This installment is totally rated M. You have been notified. **Please proceed with caution if you are underage. Or not at all, depending on your level of pervosity.**  
**

* * *

"Jareth!" I shouted, then returned to searching under my bed. He poked his head in the door.

"Yes, my-"

"Where in the _hell_ are my shoes?" I demanded, reaching for the vaguely footwear-esque shape far in the back… No, just a feather duster.

"Which shoes are you looking for, love?"

"The ones I wore last night for my… uhm, for the show." I blushed and was grateful for the bed blocking my expression from him.

He was smirking, I just _knew_ he was, probably leaning against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed, his eyes glowing as he stared at my bum-

Oh! My panty-clad bum was on display right in front of him, no wonder-

"And pray tell, darling, how exactly I am supposed to know where they are?" he asked in mild amusement as I hurriedly stood back up, wishing I had gotten dressed before searching for my shoes, rather than crawling around on my hands and knees in my _underwear. _

"Well, you were the one to take them off and toss them, so…"

Jareth frowned thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his lips. "Hmm. It seems my memory is a tad fuzzy, darling. Perhaps we should retrace our steps," he suggested, looking for all the world as though it were a reasonable request. I sighed.

"Jareth, we really don't have time-"

"Sarah," he said in that lovely silk-and-chocolate voice of his, and I promptly forgot what I was saying. He pushed off the doorframe and moved toward me, his gait too graceful to be called 'walking', and bent to my ear, gently brushing my hair back. I shivered, tilting my head.

"Turn my world, precious thing. I beg of you," he whispered, and I felt my knees tremble a little bit.

I smirked.

"Alright," I said, and grabbed his shirt, turning (_his world_) him a few feet and pushing him backwards onto the chair he'd sat in last night. He allowed me to manhandle him with a hungry smile, his eyes doing their lust-laden lantern impersonation.

I sauntered slowly to him, running my hands down my sides and over my stomach. "First, I stood over here," I said, and stopped an arm's length from him, tossing my head back. My hands reached my breasts, and I pinched my nipples through the lace. Jareth inhaled sharply.

"And then," I slid one hand up to my throat, letting the other wander back downwards and skim my panty line, "You begged me to come to you." I looked at him through my lashes, feeling my heart stutter and my thighs clench at the heat in his mismatched eyes.

"Please, Sarah," he said, low and throaty and persuasive, "_Come for me_."

I shuddered, my breath rushing out in a barely constrained moan, and very nearly did as he asked.

Raising one leg, I pressed my foot against his chest, arching it as though I were wearing a heel.

"And then," I continued, shivering as his hands ghosted along my calf, "you took them off. With your teeth."

Jareth grinned at me, baring his teeth, and lowered his mouth to my ankle, pressing soft kisses and light nips to my skin, making my eyelids flutter, and another soft moan escaped. I kept my eyes open and watched Jareth's face as I slid the hand that had been toying with my panties under the fabric, and we both inhaled as I pressed a finger to my clit.

He dragged one of his long fingered hands up the length of my leg and lightly stroked the gradually growing wet spot on my lace panties, growling as I circled my own hand. I let my head fall back again, my breath short, as he slid a finger underneath the edge with aching slowness. He circled his fingertip around my opening while I panted and writhed, my hand's motions growing faster and more desperate.

"Yes, that's it, Sarah, _come _for me," he said, and simultaneously bit down on my ankle and thrust his finger inside me, pressing against the fleshy little spot -

I tensed, a strangled wail bursting out as I shuddered - just a little more -

"Sarah? Are you ready?" Karen's voice called up from the foyer downstairs, dousing my building climax like a bucket of cold water. "Your father is waiting in the car, hurry up."

I groaned, sliding my foot off of Jareth's chest and removing myself from his hand.

"I hate that woman," I sighed. "She is the source of my unhappiness."

Jareth chuckled and stood up, pulling me to him and wrapping a hand around my thigh, drawing it up to rest at his waist and tightly pressing his hips against mine. It seemed my stepmother's presence hadn't dimmed _his_ arousal.

He held my gaze and brought his finger to his mouth, still wet from me, and slowly, deliberately, sucked it clean. I watched with rapt fascination.

"You should finish," he paused, and a twinge ran through my loins, "getting ready. I'll handle your mother," he said, and gave me a thorough kiss. I nipped at his lips as he drew back, and grinned at him.

"I'll be down in a few minutes," I said, and ground myself against his erection with a small moan. He groaned a little, and smirked at me.

"Minx," he accused, and released me, leaving to placate my stepmother. I wondered how he was going to hide the proof of what we'd been up (_way up_) to from her as I snatched my dress off the hanger and pulled it on, pondering what other shoes I could wear, since my search for the ones I wanted had been rather unsuccessful.

"…had the misfortune of losing her shoes, I was helping her look for them…" I heard Jareth's voice drift up, and I snorted, turning to rummage through my closet -

When something poofed into existence on my bed. I turned, curious, and saw my shoes sitting in the center of my bedspread, looking pretty as you please. I picked them up, smiling.

There were teeth marks on the ankle straps.

* * *

**AN:** I have no excuse. I'm just a perv. :P


	15. 91: Drowning

**Disclaimer: **So, hypothetically, if I were setting a trap for a ghost, what would I hypothetically use as bait?

And I already tried a dolled up, scantily-clad muppet. It didn't work. Hypothetically.

Challenge # 91: Drowning

* * *

"Really? _More_ syrup?"

Toby looked indignantly at his older sister, and defiantly poured another small lake's worth of artificial maple-flavored sugar onto his plate. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine, but don't come crying to me when your stomach stages a revolt," she said, setting her own plate down and taking a seat across from him. Toby watched her cut up her pancakes and pour an entirely insufficient amount of maple syrup over them.

"What, no butter?" he asked, horrified. She pointed her knife at his pancakey syrup-river.

"Figured I'd leave it for you to make life preservers for your drowning pancakes out of it. That little one on the left might survive," she replied saucily. He glared at her, stabbed the pancake in question, and plopped it into the miniature mapley ocean.

Sarah dropped her silverware and held out her hands in melodramatic desperation to the slowly sinking pancake. "Jack! No! I love you! Never let go!"

Toby snorted in spite of himself and tried to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth by helping the little fellow along in his descent.

Sarah flung herself on the table, just shy of knocking over her orange juice, and sobbed for all she was worth.

"I'll never let you go Jack, I promise," she cried. Toby laughed, reaching over and poking his sister in the arm with his mostly clean fork.

"You're such a freak, Sarah."

Sarah peeked at him from the crook of her arm. "Watch it, buddy, or we'll be doing another Titanic marathon."

"As long as we can skip first half of the second tape. Jeez, if I have to leave the room for the gross scene one more time…" he pouted, not mentioning that he always peeked through the closet door to watch, anyways.

She laughed, reaching over and ruffling his hair. "Actually, I figured we'd do something else today. See, a friend of mine has this castle that I'm watching while he's away one business, and there's this room full of swords and stuff that need to be organized…"

"We're cleaning out the armory! YES!" Toby punched the air, whooping in excitement, and immediately jumped down from his seat, doing a victory dance that involved quite a lot of kicking and hip swishing. Sarah winced and reminded herself to make Jareth stop dancing in front of Toby.

"We're not leaving until you finish breakfast, mister. There had better not be _one drop_ of syrup left on the plate," she said sternly, and Toby immediately climbed back into his chair, woofing down his pancakes with the impressive speed and lack of vanity that only children can manage.

"Whoa, tiger! I'm no good a CPR, _chew_ before swallowing," Sarah laughed.

Toby looked up at her, his cheeks bulging with pancakes and a line of syrup dripping down his chin. "Sarah, there are _swords_ waiting for me! There's no time for stupid stuff like _chewing!_" he gestured at her own plate, still mostly full. "Hurry up, we have to go!"

Sarah laughed at her little brother's enthusiasm, and tucked into her own plate, hoping Jareth was watching his protégé right now - there was no doubt Toby was Prince of the Goblins.

* * *

**AN:** Alright, I know I'm spamming you guys with these. I think I'm done for a little while now. :)


	16. 29: Happiness

**Disclaimer: **Oh, good gravy... seriously running out of ways to say this...

Challenge # 29: Happiness

* * *

Sarah peeked in the freezer.

"What do we have, ice cream wise?" she asked, rummaging past the frozen peas and God-knew-how-frostbitten waffles. Karen lightly slapped her hands, ushering her away and firmly closing the door.

"Sarah, really, you couldn't wait ten minutes? At least let us get dinner put away," her stepmother reprimanded. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"I can't help it. All that healthy, nutritional junk has depleted my body's sugar cells. I'm going through withdrawals," she replied, and gestured at the remains of tonight's dinner. "And salad is totally not dinner, by the way," she added. Karen frowned.

"You will thank me for this, young lady, when you are thirty and your hips are no bigger than they are now," she said smartly. Sarah scoffed.

"If I ever thank you for depriving me of my natural teen-aged right to have ice cream immediately after dinner and to refuse to ingest anything green unless it's lime-flavored, then I'll buy you a unicorn," she retorted, and reached a hand into the freezer, grabbing the first ice cream container she found and scurrying out of the kitchen before Karen could snatch it back. She passed by Toby, who was diligently trying to stick a spoon to his nose.

"Hey!" he objected as she plucked it off his face. "I was doing magic, Sarah!"

"If you let me keep this spoon, I'll show you the mirror trick tonight," she bargained. He eyed her for a moment, glancing at the ice cream.

"Mirror trick _and _three bites of ice cream."

She frowned. "One."

"Two."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You drive ah hard bargain, Mistah Tobias," she said, affecting a Clint Eastwood drawl, "But I accept yoah conditions."

Toby bounced excitedly as his sister pried open the container, and fed him the agreed upon spoonfuls while glancing nervously at the kitchen.

"If Karen finds out I fed you ice cream, the deal is off, bucko," she warned him, and with a somber nod, he raced off into the kitchen to whine about how his evil sister refused to give him ice cream, why did she get some but not him, it wasn't fair, etc.

Sarah grinned. Evil genius, that little boy. Still in a highchair and better at lying than she would ever be.

Holding her precious container of contraband, she raced to her room and closed her door just as she heard Karen hollering that she had _better not_ be taking that to her room, _had best _bring that down when she was done, young lady, yadda yadda.

Turning off the lights, Sarah quickly scanned the tree outside her window for any owls (not that she thought it was _him_, but maybe they were his spies? Creepy in any case) and shut the blinds, turning and hauling the comforter off her bed and snuggling up in it on the floor, carefully keeping the view from her window blocked by her stripped bed. Only after peering suspiciously at both her covered window and her mirror for a moment did she pull the lid back off the container and take a bite.

Peach ice cream. She sighed, smiling. Pure, undiluted happiness, that's what this was. If she closed her eyes, she could practically hear the music, feel his hands on her waist (oh, _god_, what a feeling, she was tingly just thinking about it), see him looking at her like she was the only girl that ever existed, _ever_…

Pure happiness.

* * *

**AN: **Okay... so I lied.

:D


	17. 18: Rainbow

**Disclaimer: **Oi. Henson. Gonnae no pure hog the Labyrinth, like? (It means something. I swear. ...Just not entirely sure what)

Challenge # 18: Rainbow

* * *

I peer down at the sleeping girl's feet in my lap, and grin.

Sarah toes.

Really quite adorable, actually. All tiny and rounded and slightly chubby. Also, her toenails are painted in a bright, unmatched array of colors. I suspect she allowed Toby to pick them out again. I like the little fellow, but he has as much fashion sense as a tablecloth.

Or a goblin, I suppose. Perhaps I should limit his time with the little runts.

Returning my focus to the happy rainbow toes, I very lightly trace their outlines, trying to decide which one is my favorite. I think I like the middle toe the best. It reminds me of… me.

Her feet twitch as I touch them, and I grin mischievously. So, Sarah has ticklish feet? How interesting.

I run a finger up the center of her foot, laughing as she squawks awake and scrambles out of my lap.

"What the hell, Jareth!" she demands, but she looks more frightened than angry. As she well should be.

"You never told me you're feet were so ticklish, Sarah," I chastise happily. She pales as I creep forward.

"Jareth, don't you dare. Stay back," she warns, but I don't bother to listen.

"Tell me, precious thing, what else is ticklish?" I ask, and laugh as she vaults over the couch and runs away, squeaking adorably.

How sweet of her. She knows how much I enjoy the chase.


	18. 94: Last Hope

**Disclaimer: **I've decided on dialects, now! Take a guess: _I dun' Jack Jones anythin._

This is a continuation of the last one, _Rainbow_, so make sure you've read that one or this one won't make with the funny quite as well. (I would say it wouldn't make sense, but do any of these, really?)

Challenge # 94: Last Hope

* * *

"Toby Toby Toby Toby!" Sarah screeched, running into the screech-ee's room at full speed and leaping onto his bed, burrowing in his Muppet-printed comforter. She peeked out at her younger brother from the safety of her cocoon. _"Save me!"_

Toby glanced dispassionately at her before returning to his coloring book, nonchalantly flipping the page. "Why?"

"Because Jareth just found out I'm ticklish and he's gonna torture me within an inch of my life, that's why!"

"You can't die from tickling, Sarah," he said, in that wow,-grown-ups-are-dumb voice that seemed inherent in all six-year-olds. His green-eyed comforter glared at him.

"I save you from life as a goblin, and this is the thanks I get?" she growled. Toby rolled his eyes. How many times was she going to play _that_ card?

He continued perusing his coloring book.

_Flip._

"What's in it for me?"

His comforter gaped at him. "You've got to be kidding! I don't have time to bargain! He's _right on my tail!"_

"Then think of something fast."

_Flip._

His comforter groused and grumbled, shifting about grouchily, before sighing and sprouting an arm with a five dollar bill clutched in it's hand.

Toby scoffed. "You really think five bucks is gonna sway me? You realize once he finds out I'm going to have etiquette classes for like, the rest of forever."

"Etiquette is good for you. Character and manners and stuff. Besides, that's all I have in my pocket."

Toby shrugged. _Flip._ "Then I guess you'd better prepare your ribs for torture."

Jareth poked his head in as Sarah squeaked and dove back under her dubious protection.

"Really, precious thing, a blanket?" he teased, and darted forward to snag her as she flew from under the covers, making a mad dash for freedom. Jareth easily caught her, wrapping her up in his arms and proceeding to dance his fingers nimbly over her sides. She shrieked and attempted to do some sort of death roll.

"Go for the backs of her knees," Toby offered helpfully.

Jareth obeyed, and was rewarded with an even higher shriek. "Why thank you, Toby. No need for lessons tomorrow, I think."

"No prob." Toby smiled as his etiquette teacher/brother-in-law/favorite monarch hoisted his sister over his shoulder and did his _poof_ thing while attacking the backs of her knees.

He didn't miss the _I'm gonna get you_ look Sarah shot him right before she _poofed_, but he wasn't terribly worried. Sarah was really lame at revenge plans.


	19. 59: No Way Out

**Disclaimer: **(This is a good one - you'll never figure it out. :D) Ay dun bill anyth'n.

This is the third (and final) installment of the Toe Saga, also known as the Dysfunctional Sibling Trilogy.

Challenge # 59: No Way Out

* * *

"Sarah Sarah Sarah!"

She grinned. She'd known it wouldn't take long.

Hastily snatching a magazine, she leaned back and casually flipped through it as her little brother came barreling into her room, throwing himself under her bed and trying to blend in with the carpet. She didn't tell him the toes of his shoes were peeking out.

"Sarah, you gotta help me!"

She savored that for a moment, smiling.

_Flip._

"Why?"

"Because Jareth's got like a week of pent up diction training to vent out after that troll conference, and if I have to learn any more etiquette this week my brain is gonna dribble out my ears!"

She grinned wider.

_Flip._

"What's in it for me?"

Toby's toes twitched.

"Oh, come on, Sarah, you're not holding that against me, are you? This is different! You laugh when you get tickled! _No one _laughs when you're being drilled on proper greetings for every imaginary creature in the Underground! Besides, I'm six - it's not like I have anything to offer!"

"Prepare your brains to become dribbly, then," she snipped.

Jareth strolled in, rolling his eyes at the red converse toes sticking out from Sarah's dust ruffle.

"Really, Tobias, have I not taught you better concealment methods?" he twitched his fingers, and there was suddenly a defeated-looking Toby standing before them.

"Come on, Jareth, can't we just take the day off?" he wheedled. Jareth cocked an eyebrow.

"After you missed an entire week while I was away? I think not."

Jareth held out his hand for Toby's reluctant holding before whisking them away for etiquette lessons.

_Flip._

"He's been having trouble with posture. Maybe you should do the book-balancing routine some more," Sarah suggested helpfully. Toby shot her a wounded glare as he _poofed_ away.

Sarah smiled, thoroughly satisfied.

* * *

**AN:** Haha. Lame at revenge, eh?


	20. 89: Through The Fire

**Disclaimer: **I don't bloody know. Make up a language, if you feel like it.

**WARNING: **Another smutty chapter. I don't know why - these things just pop up and I usually have little choice but to hold on and see where it goes. They write themselves - I am little more than a convenient vessel that knows how to operate a computer and can type fairly fast. But, yes, this is a raunchy one - you have been warned. :)

Challenge # 89: Through The Fire

* * *

"That's right, you're my _slave_," I growled, my fingers tight around Jareth's throat as he bucked under me. His face reddened from lack of air and his fingers dug into my breasts, squeezing too hard and knowing that I liked it anyways. He gasped, trying to say my name, and I tightened my hold.

"Did I _say_ you could speak?_" _I snarled, and raked the nails of my free hand down his naked, defined, sweat-shined chest.

He made a harsh, strangled noise in his throat, and suddenly seized my hips in a bruising, white-knuckled grip, driving into me and roaring in climax. I shuddered at his reaction and felt my own take hold, and I shrieked as he pulled me along with him.

I fell back as the last wave retreated, panting, and felt a riptide of shock and guilt sweep the feet out from under the afterglow as I caught sight of an unruly blond mop in the doorway.

_Oh, my god._ I panicked.

Toby screamed and ran.

* * *

I peeked my head around the living room doorway, trying to ignore the decidedly unpleasant fluttery feeling in my stomach. I was a disturbed, sick person. And now my baby brother knew.

Toby was sitting in the middle of the room amidst a massacre of fuzzy pipe cleaners, sequins, feathers, and popsicle sticks, his unruly blonde curls sporting a healthy amount of glitter. His pudgy little-boy fingers deftly stuck a sequin into the small lake of glue on his latest masterpiece.

_Deep breath, Sar,_ I told myself, and arranged what I hoped was a nonchalant smile on my face as I stepped into the room.

"Hey, Tobes!" I said perkily. The little Picasso didn't glance up.

"Hey, Sarah."

My heart was doing a tap dance in my ribcage and I felt slightly sick with guilt and shame. What kind of person did the things I had done? How would my brother ever forgive me?

I crouched down next to him, taking a look at his art project and trying to pretend to myself that I was actually looking at it.

"Whatcha making, there, bud?" I asked. He stuck a feather in an improbable angle atop the construction and shrugged.

"Dunno. Just kinda… making."

I cringed. Oh, god, I had destroyed my brother's inner creative genius with my debauchery. He'd witnessed the disgusting, abominable lows that humanity was capable of, seen them _in his own sister_, and now he was forever scarred and would soon devolve into a gibbering, incoherent vegetable. I was not worthy to live.

"Uhm, listen… you know, what you saw the other night, in Dad and Karen's room…"

"Yeah, Jareth already explained everything," he said disinterestedly. I blinked.

"He what?"

"I'm not gonna tell. I mean, if you wanna give Mom a unicorn for Christmas, I guess she'll like it, but I don't think she'll keep it," he said. "She won't even let me get a _dog_. What's she gonna do with a _unicorn?_"

I shook my head. Unicorn? What the hell? How had Jareth and I… turned into a _unicorn_?

"Uhm. Yeah, I see what you mean. I'm gonna… go... find Jareth. Later, kid," I stammered, and lurched unsteadily to my feet. I didn't understand. Had he actually seen us? He'd _had_ to have. He'd _screamed_.

Clomping up the stairs to my room, I started mentally chanting for Jareth. He was waiting for me when I closed the door and spun around in a confused rage.

"What the _hell_ is going on, Jareth?" I demanded. He smirked sexily at me and dragged his eyes over my close-cut green dress. He liked when I wore green. And dresses.

"I assume you're talking about Toby," he said, pushing off the window with his hip and advancing on me in that stalking-my-prey manner of his that made my knees weak. I cursed my weak will and the raunchy, depraved things it led to.

"_Yes_, I am talking about Toby." I leaned back against the door as he reached me and felt my knees wobble as he braced an arm on either side of me and licked me head to toe with his eyes. "I just went down to try and explain that him catching us having rough, crazy sex _in our parent's room, three feet from his crib_ was not _actually_ a bad thing - which it is, by the way, and I can't believe I let you-"

"_Let_ me?" Jareth cocked an eyebrow and raised one hand, running it over the side of my throat. "Sarah, love, as I recall it was _you_ who ripped off _my_-"

I clapped a hand over his mouth. "We are _not_ talking about it," I said firmly, and batted his hand away as it grazed my chest. "And we a _not_ fooling anymore for the rest of the time we're house-sitting. No matter _who's _bed it's in."

Jareth's eyes glowed and he practically purred under my hand. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Jareth, _stop it_. I am not being forceful, I am _angry_. You will _not_ be turned on while I'm mad at you."

He rolled his eyes and brushed my hand from his mouth. "Sarah, my darling, what do you have to be angry about? I edited the incident from your brother's memory, an action which has clear benefits for all parties involved, and instead replaced it with an amusing, harmless scene about a centaur or a dragon or some such nonsense. Everything is _fine_."

"It was a unicorn, actually."

Jareth rolled his hand in a _what-the-hell-ever_ manner.

"Unicorns have an enormous horn on top of their heads, and I have often called you a 'stallion'. You picked it on purpose, and the symbolism is not appreciated."

Jareth laughed. "Precious thing, I was simply trying to make it believable. Regardless, we are through the fire unscathed - your little brother is none the wiser to what he actually witnessed, your parents shall never know that I heartily approve of their choice in mattresses, and-"

I nearly gagged.

"Ohmygod, I had _sex_ in the same place _my parents do,"_ I hissed.

He laughed again. "Should I edit you memory as well, precious thing?"

I glared. "Don't you _dare_ edit my memory, for _anything_, or I will never have sex with you _anywhere_ ever again."

His eyes twinkled. "Not that you would know."

I crossed my arms. "I have ways."

Jareth eyed me for a moment, decided that I was probably telling the truth, and turned on the sex appeal again, bodily pressing me back against the door and trying to melt me with the heat in his eyes.

"Very well, precious thing - if I can't _magically_ make you forget, I'll just have to do it _physically_," he said.

Shuddering in a distressingly noticeable manner, I tried to turn my head and regain control of my hormones. They were too busy vibrating in excitement and anticipation to cooperate.

"Jareth, no, I said we were going to _behave_ for the rest of this-"

"_Sarah? We're back!_" Dad's voice chimed from downstairs like a beacon through the fog of lust around my brain. I grinned as Jareth groaned in disappointed irritation.

"C'mon, let's go say hi," I said, and pushed him off me, straightening my dress. He sighed in defeat and took my outstretched hand, opening the door and leading me towards the stairs -

I froze, suddenly struck immobile by horror.

Jareth blinked back at me, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow.

"How am I going to look at Karen knowing that I had an orgasm in her _bed_?" I covered my face in my hands. "Oh, god, shoot me now."

Jareth laughed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leading me down to my doom with smug self-satisfaction.


	21. 61: Fairy Tale

**Disclaimer:** Something new to add this time! Not only do I _still_ not own Labyrinth, but I _also_ don't own anything by C. S. Lewis! Fantastic. I feel quite wonderfully unaccomplished, now.

Challenge # 61: Fairy Tale

* * *

Sarah had been plunked down in the middle of a fairy tale again.

It happened with disturbing regularity, and really, one would think she'd have gotten used to it by now, but the shock of going about her daily business and suddenly stepping into a buried fairy circle or walking through an odd mist and bam, _one way ticket to Elsewhere, please,_ just never seemed to wear off.

Standing up, she dusted off her bottom, wishing that just _once_, being dropped on her ass into another realm wasn't quite so literal. This was the third call in the last ten days, and her tailbone had only _just_ recovered from the portal in that old woman's basement. Usually she had a good month between jaunts, but apparently not this week.

She sighed, looking around to see where she'd wound up _this_ time. Really, she should have known better than to lean so far into that wardrobe. _Lucky Aslan wasn't waiting to chomp my head off. Never did like that lion. _ However, her current surroundings did not look like Narnia. The stone walls were uneven and clearly not man-made, but probably man-improved, and _everything_ was abominably dusty. It was a lazy spider's wet dream – they'd never have to spin another web for the rest of their eight-legged life. Hopefully a girl spider, though, as everything was also rather sparkly. Sarah smirked. _If I didn't know better, I'd say it looked like the…._

She blanched.

It looked like the Labyrinth.

"Hohgod. Ohgodohgodoh_shit_ohgod." _Deep breaths, remain calm, rational thinking is not aided by hyperventilating._ She put a hand to her head, closing her eyes and fanning her overheating brain as she tried to think. For the last decade, she had offered her services to anyone of Elsewhere who needed her assistance, be it to recover a lost child, or settle a dispute, or to help in an escape, or to be a date to the latest ball (those were her favorites) – but _everyone_, _**everywhere**_**, **knew not to call her to the Labyrinth. It was akin to asking the abominable snow man to vacation in Jamaica, but less likely. _Who_ would _dare_ to call her here? Someone was _so_ getting charged double.

Heeled footfalls rocketed her heartbeat into the danger zone, and she panicked, searching for a place to hide. _Please don't be him, __**please**__ don't be him!_

She plastered herself to a wall, willing the shadows to stretch and darken and blend with her green pantsuit, wrap around her like a protective mother and shield her from the evils –

He turned the corner, and her knees wobbled.

Tall, lean, beautiful and devastatingly _real_, more so than anything she'd ever seen in her drab home world, more _alive_ than she'd ever felt, more intense and dangerous and captivating than any one being had the right to be, he casually clicked his boots on the stone and smirked his twisted smirk at her as he dispelled all hopes of concealment with his decisive approach.

"I did wonder where you had popped in at," he said. "Didn't expect to find you in the old hidden tunnel system, but then, you always did have a tendency surprise me."

Swallowing thickly, Sarah reluctantly left her sorry excuse for a hiding place and stood tall, trying not to look like she wasn't entirely in control of her bladder.

"Jareth," she said with a nod of acknowledgment, and was quite proud of the crisp, business-like tone that belied nothing of the bone-sweating terror that currently had a firm grip around her nads, or the undertow of physical appreciation that was threatening to drag her trembly legs out from beneath her.

He smirked at her again. "Yes, my precious Sarah?"

She blinked. "It wasn't a question," she stammered. "It was a greeting. You know, like, I say "Jareth", and then you say "Sarah", and nod your head, and then we walk on by each other and get on with our business?"

Jareth cocked his head amusedly. "That seems rather counterproductive, as you _are_ my business, at present," he said, and nodded his head mockingly. "Sarah."

She narrowed her eyes. Mocking her. That was a great start.

"And what exactly do you want with me? I've breached none of the-"

"Oh, _Sarah_," he interrupted, and she quite nearly spontaneously combusted at the blatant arousal in his tone. Was he _allowed _to talk like that? "It would take _hours_ to cover what I _want _with you," he said, and slid forward like a crocodile, like a sea serpent, like a shark toward the fish it intends to devour. "However, suffice to say that at present, I require your assistance."

"Huah, whih…" Sarah snapped her malfunctioning jaw closed, cleared her throat, and tried again. "With what?" She pressed as far back as the wall would bodily allow her as he neared.

He favored her with a feral grin that did very little to help the shaky condition of her load bearing limbs. "Something has been stolen from me, and I would very dearly like it returned to me," he said, voice low and sensual and crowding her senses as he leaned an arm beside her on the wall.

Sarah tried to remember to breath. "O-oh?"

He appraised her jaw line with an art lover's appreciation. "Mm-hmm," he murmured, apparently unconcerned with the conversation and far more interested in how her throat might taste. He did something with his tongue behind his teeth. It was quite fascinating.

"And-what-would-that-be?" Sarah rushed out in a single breath. He was clearly enjoying her reaction to him, which was a tad irritating and demeaning, but damned if it did anything to dull the wildfire running loose and burning all her self control and survival instinct to cinders.

"Time," he replied, and lowered his head, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to the sensitive skin of her throat. She really had very little choice but to tilt her head to the side and close her eyes.

"How much time?" Sarah suddenly realized her hands were on his chest, doing a bit of unauthorized exploration. How long had that been going on?

"Years, precious thing…" His tongue darted out, light and butterfly quick, and some sort of surprised choke of need issued from Sarah's throat. She wondered vaguely if humans were supposed to make that noise. "Though I suspect you already know that, as it was _you_ who did the thieving," he said. Sarah's eyes snapped open.

"Say what?"

"I've lost _years_ thinking about you, Sarah mine," he said, nipping at her ear to successfully derail any higher brain function that had been threatening to resume. "You've consumed my thoughts for quite long enough. "

Sarah's nails were biting into the flesh of his back as he worried any skin he could easily reach on her. She convulsed as he closed his teeth over her stud earring and _tongued_ it.

"What do you expect me to do about this?" she demanded. He groaned softly as her nails ran down his back, the vibrations buzzing through the metal in her ear and pulling a similar response from her.

"Well, expect you to give it back to me, of course. Ten years and thirteen hours of your time, but I'll settle for dinner tonight as a start."

Sarah froze. _Ten years? Dinner? What? _

Jareth released her ear and swiveled around to brush his lips against hers. "I'll pick you up at eight," he said, and suddenly Sarah was standing in a wardrobe, flushed and flustered and breathing far too heavily, while a doddery old lady went on about teak wood, an endless supply of teak wood that allowed her to start her own furniture business like she'd always dreamed…

Sarah wondered if she'd even had to give anything up in exchange.

* * *

**AN: **You know... I don't know if this one is done or not... I think the whole 'Sarah as a PI/Paladin for Otherworld' might be kinda fun.


	22. 90: Triangle, 74:Are You Challenging Me?

**Disclaimer**: Blah blah blah **Don't own** blah blah blah **But the night is young **blah blah.

Fun Fact: _[I'm a cheater] _In honor of the Christmas Shopping Bargains _[I cheated]_, this installment is actually _[a cheat]_ Two for the price of One! _[Cause I'm a dirty rotten cheater... Sorry]._

Yeah... I combined them. :/ But! It's longer! And they just worked so well...

Challenges # 90: Triangle, & 74: Are You Challenging Me?

* * *

"Toby! Quit _eating_ all of them or we won't have any left for tomorrow!" I scolded. The prince of the goblins looked at me with guilty eyes above his cookie-stuffed cheeks, and promptly pointed at Jareth.

"He took two more than I did," he tattled.

Jareth gave his protégé a wounded look. "Traitor," he accused. Toby shrugged, clearly thinking _Better you than me_.

I propped my hands on my hips and gave them both a stern look. "If you two keep eating all the cookies – _before I even get sprinkles on them_ – there won't be any left for Santa and you'll all get coal."

Toby looked suitably chastised, but Jareth, in as per usual, just gave me a cheeky smirk and regally collapsed into a chair. I cast him a glare and turned back to my baked goodies, setting the timer for fifteen minutes.

"Alright, look. If you help me get all these iced before the next batch comes out, I'll let you have one of the hot ones," I bargained, and laughed as Toby immediately lunged for the container of Ninja Turtle sprinkles he insisted made _everything _taste better. I plucked them out of his hand and ignored his indignant pout.

"Ice them with _Christmas_ decorations, Tobes," I clarified, and reached for the tiny red and green triangular sprinkles meant to resemble trees instead. He rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but don't complain to me when Santa says we had lame Christmas cookies," he warned. I grinned at him.

"After he takes a bite of Sarah Williams' Famous Sugar Cookies, he'll be so awestruck that speech of any kind will be impossible, much less criticism," I said confidently. My little brother rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, 'cause he'll be _choking_," he said under his breath. Jareth chuckled.

I slanted my fiancé a glare. "Says the boy who can't keep his grubby little hands off them," I quipped. He shrugged again.

"Mom never lets me have sweets – beggars can't be choosers, even if the chosen stuff is pretty sub-par."

I spun on him, wielding an icing-slathered spatula in outrage. His eyes widened and he jumped off his stool, making a mad dash for the stairs. "Gee, I'm tired, night Jareth!" he called as he ran. I glowered at his retreating back.

"Yeah, that's right little man, run away," I yelled after him, leaning around the door frame to watch him disappear towards his room. "See who gets coal in his stocking tomorrow morning!"

He poked his head back around the corner. "Just don't leave anything for the reindeer – Santa's gonna be really mad if you kill his mode of transportation!"

My jaw dropped, and I started toward him. The little menace squeaked and dashed for the safety of his room.

"Ooh, you are gonna _pay_ for that, you little twerp!"

Jareth wound an arm around my waist, halting my pursuit of the offending little princeling, and gently took the spatula from my fingers. "Now, Sarah, he's only teasing," he said placatingly. I glared at him over my shoulder. His eyes twinkled in merry amusement.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm only going to _teasingly_ re-arrange his face," I replied. "And don't think you're off the hook, mister. Your efforts to deplete Santa's annual bribe are not forgotten."

He grinned rakishly. "I admit to finding it difficult not to partake of your goodies," he said, and gave my waist a squeeze.

I rolled my eyes. "Your excuse does not impress the monarchy."

Jareth chuckled in the low, sensual way that meant he was thinking about kissing me, and was purposely designed to make _me_ think about kissing _him_.

"Darling, I think you may be missing the big picture," he said, and pulled me back from the doorway – and out of view of the stairs – and pressed his chest to my back. I quite enjoyed the feeling of him snuggled behind me, arms wrapped securely around me. I resisted the urge to lean my head back against his shoulder, and determinedly kept my voice stern and unamused. I even arched an eyebrow for good measure.

"Feel free to enlighten me," I replied.

"Your parents are expected to be at their Christmas party for another several hours," he brushed his lips along my earlobe, his voice a sexy murmur in my ear. It was quite a bit more difficult to be firm and formidable when my tummy was warm and trembly.

"And your brother is cowering in fear up in his room," he continued with a nibble, humming in satisfaction as I shivered. His teeth were very persuasive.

"And there are…" he paused, turning us slightly. "Thirteen minutes to kill before you have anything important to do." _Nibble nibble nibble._

His fingers skimmed my sides, inching towards my hips and the drawstring of my pj pants. I put my hands over his, halting their descent, as I watched the oven timer change. "Twelve minutes, actually. And that's hardly enough time for a happy ending," I said. Jareth winked at me.

"Au contraire, Sarah, twelve minutes is_ plenty _of time."

I cocked a brow, smirking. "Not for _me_, it isn't."

Leaning back slightly, he eyed me hungrily. "Are you challenging me, precious thing?"

I gave him an arch look. "Are you taking me up on it?"

He raised a hand to his chin, tapping a finger on his lips and eying the hollow of my throat – one of my more obvious erogenous zones. My stomach tingled pleasantly.

"Eleven minutes," I said, perhaps a little arrogantly.

"Should I win this wager, I may eat as many cookies as I wish," he said hastily. I grinned.

"Should _I_ win, you can't eat _any_ until tomorrow morning, after presents," I replied.

"Deal," he said, and I may have whimpered at the unabashedly carnivorous look in his mismatched eyes.

Jareth picked me up, setting me on the counter and nestling himself between my knees, his teeth already grazing the hollow of my throat – and I slid right back off the edge, surprising him into stumbling backwards as I raced around the corner to the living room.

"You're gonna have to _catch _me first, though!" I called back triumphantly.

"What? _Oh!" _ Jareth sputtered, giving chase as soon as he recovered his balance. "You cheating little _minx!"_

I launched over the sofa, cackling as I looked behind –

And landed right in his arms. "Hey! No poofing! _Now_ who's the cheater?"

Jareth tossed me back onto the couch. "Simply adapting to the rules of the game, dearest," he said, and leapt on top of me, pinning my arms over my head. "Now be still and let me win."

I scoffed. "As if."

He ground his hips against mine and ran his tongue over his teeth. I shuddered.

"Not fair."

He laughed. "Your basis for comparison continues to elude me, precious."

* * *

Toby paused as he pulled off his sock, frowning. Hadn't he just…?

He rolled his eyes again. Jareth was reordering time. Sarah must have made some stupid bet based on a time limit again – really, he'd have thought she'd learn after the first few, but she was either _really_ dumb, or just didn't mind losing. He sighed and crawled into bed, frowning again as he realized he'd already done this twice.

He hoped Jareth won the stupid bet soon.


	23. 85: Spiral

**Disclaimer: **I wonder what would happen if I said I _did_ own Labyrinth? Aside from tearing myself apart inside as disgust at my blatant thievery and elation at the mere idea warring in my soul and driving me nuttier than I already am ...Best not to chance it. My soul isn't somewhere I voluntarily visit, anyways. Like downtown Detroit.

This one is inspired by a silly little thread floating around on the Harem, concerning Jareth and quite a few shoe-related quips. It's hilarious.

Also, I just noticed that I have a reader from Finland! Hello, you lone Finlandian! *waves* I love your country's folk music! Do stay warm!

* * *

Sarah hummed to herself as she tugged the boots on – she had found them on the discount rack, the last pair, and couldn't resist when she saw the little tag declaring them her size. She probably would have paid full price for them, they were so ridiculously comfortable and deliciously attractive, but at the outrageously low price of ten dollars?

They were a dream come true.

She posed in front of the mirror, admiring how totally kick-ass the knee-high, butter-soft black leather riding boots looked, and grinned in excitement. The desire to race downstairs and show them off was nearly overwhelming, but they'd never make it out of the house if she pranced around in nothing but these supersexy boots and her black, lacey underwear. Amelia, her best friend and costar, would never forgive her if she missed her birthday party.

Slipping on the sleeveless black turtleneck dress that Jareth was so fond of, Sarah pinned her hair back with a quick clip and tromped to the stairs, pausing at the first stair and smoothing her dress before beginning her descent.

The impressive spiral staircase was the main reason she had bought the loft apartment, because really, what was cooler than a sweeping entrance down an ornate, wrought iron staircase that gave those below a flattering, three hundred and sixty degree view of her outfit before she reached them? The girlish prima donna in her just couldn't resist.

And watching Jareth's reactions were always a treat.

She took the stairs slowly, fully extending her leg for each step for maximum impact, boot-wise, and delicately dragged her fingers along the handrail – though she doubted Jareth would notice the gesture when confronted with her legs. He had his weaknesses.

She paused after one full revolution, grinning at the toe-tingling hunger in Jareth's face as he lounged on the couch, watching her. Propping a booted foot on the banister at a provocative angle, she cocked an eyebrow.

"What do you think?" Sarah flexed her calf, watching her favorite monarch's eyes darken just a tad. "Got'em on sale – total bargain."

Jareth rose slowly, stalking toward her with deliberate steps and hot, glowing eyes, possessive desire written in every line of that gorgeous, toned body of his. She _loved_ when he did the stalking-strut thing.

"I think," he said slowly as he reached her, and ran a hand up the inside of her leg, palm flat to the boot, "that you look absolutely edible," he seized the zipper of the boot and tugged, peeling the leather from her leg like a shiny black banana, "and I don't want anyone else seeing you in them."

Sarah rolled her eyes. The downside of possessiveness.

"Jareth, hun, I bought them to wear, not to put on and have you take off two minutes later," she said reasonably. "And I'm twenty-one. I can dress myself."

Jareth scowled. "Every boy at that party will be drooling all over you. I'll not have it."

Sighing, she pulled her leg from his grasp and reached down, pulling the zipper back up. "And every _girl_ will be eying your pants and wondering how quickly they could peel them off you, but I'm not forcing you into a pair of loose-fitting slacks, am I?"

He frowned an crossed his arms. "Of course not. I'd look ridiculous."

"And it would be _wrong_, Jareth. Focus on the moral, here."

He pouted, and unfairly managed to make it look regal. "I hate the idea of those lecherous 'actors' fantasizing about you. I see no reason to give them fodder for their lewd imaginations."

"But I _like_ looking good, Jareth. I _like_ making other guys want me, and then letting them know that they can never have me because I'm with _you._" She shrugged, knowing it was callous. "It's an ego boost. I know it sounds bad, but I'm cruel. Part of the X chromosome inheritance," she said casually, and slanted him a look. "It's like the way you strut around in _your_ boots to get all the girls' hearts pumping, and then wrap an arm around me and completely ignore the world for a minute," she added. Jareth looked uncomfortable at her astuteness.

"It's not quite the same," he objected. Sarah laughed.

"It's _exactly _the same, you chauvinist, and I'm not taking off my boots, so you can either deal with it and come with me, or sit home and let the lecherous minds of my costars run wild," she said. Jareth scowled.

"What happened to the 'do as I say' part of this relationship?" he said petulantly. Sarah rolled her eyes. After six years, she'd thought he would have caught on.

"That's a very circumstantial clause."

Jareth glowered. "It's a very _ignorable_ clause."

Grinning, Sarah hopped down the rest of the steps and strutted to the closet to pluck out her favorite red overcoat – one more thing that made her stand out in a crowd. And she knew Jareth liked her in red.

"Well, since you rarely do as _I_ say, I think we should just call it even," she replied, and gave Jareth a cocky grin.

He gave her a reluctant smile and slipped into his leather jacket, more reminiscent of a sleek, sexy motorcycle jacket than one of his high-shouldered, stiff-collared goblin made affairs, and Sarah smirked fondly. Yeah, he liked being the center of attention just as much as she did, the hypocrite.

"Ready to dazzle, darling?" she asked teasingly, holding out her hand. Jareth took it and placed it in the crook of his arm.

"You're _sure_ the boots are necessary?" he asked one last time.

Sarah leaned up and kissed him. "As necessary as your pants. Now, get us going or we're going to be late," she said, and closed her eyes as they disappeared from her apartment with a small puff of glitter.

* * *

**A/N: **A little bit on the younger side of their relationship, this go round. New territory for me - I usually don't push them back together until Sar is at least 25, haha. Yay for immaturity!


	24. 34: Stars

**Disclaimer: **I see you holdin all the deeds to the fae I love, and I'm like - "Forget yooou." I tried to buy off the lawyers but it didn't work out, so I'm like - "Forget yooou."

(Yeah, I'm a dork.)

Fun Fact: This is a spinoff of the "I Would Be Your Slave" challenge over in the weekly drabbles thingymabob. I tried to whittle it down to 100 words, but... it just needed more. Also, it just so happened that 'Stars' was the next challenge, so...

Challenge # 34: Stars

* * *

I can only watch her from afar. She's unwittingly protected herself from me completely – to be too near her is blinding, unbearably painful, and does not last long - she seems to know when I am near, but only with instinct. She never comes near me. When she moves, it is unfailingly further from where I perch. She doesn't know it's me, of that I'm sure, but nonetheless, her footsteps have never brought her closer. I've come to recognize the sharpness around her, know my limits, feel when I've come perilously close and when I can risk a few branches closer, but sometimes I can't help but push…

Long ago I became disgusted with myself. Who am I to sit, watching a girl who does not want me, and who would be of little benefit to my station, kingdom, or duties anyhow. Why do I give a damn about the mortal girl with the burning emerald eyes and the sunlight in her skin? Why do I haunt her footsteps like a wave upon a sandy trail, keeping her hidden from those who are not bound as I? Why, when she will never open her heart to me the way I would for her, will never see the stars I would move for her, would never feel her world again turned by me? I should leave, let her draw whatever will answer to the beacon under her skin, let the myths in her blood spill into the Underground and perhaps hope she'll call upon me before she is killed or enslaved.

But I won't.

I will sit here on this branch and watch the girl with the laugh like summer rain, and wait for her to see the small white owl, staring from her past, and wonder… And perhaps, she will call.


	25. 26: Tears

**Disclaimer: **Zippity do dah, my darlings.

Challenge #26: Tears

* * *

Sarah stabbed the spoon back into her hunk of chocolately, fudgey, brownie-speckled substitution for actual human contact, and sniffled at the fire crackling in the grate.

"I hate my life," she confided to the flickering firelight. It dulled in sympathy briefly before bursting to life, writhing enthusiastically and dancing for her, trying to cheer her up.

Wedging another monstrous bite of ice cream from her pint of Ben & Jerry's, she waved off her flaming log's attempts to lighten her mood.

"No, don't bother. Nothing can help," she sighed. "The universe hates me, and my slutty ex-boyfriend hates me, _and_ my slutty ex-best friend, _and_ my boss, _**and**_ now even my little brother would rather spend the weekend _helping Karen garden_ than hang out with me. I've earned this pity party, dammit, and I'm going to wallow until my toes go numb," she declared. She shoved the frozen comfort into her mouth, concentrating on the taste of chocolate overkill and steadfastly ignoring the tears pricking at her eyes. She would _not_ cry, dammit, not over them, not over _him_, he was _so_ not worth it, that rotten ex-bastard…

"My, you _do _have it rough, don't you?" asked the new inhabitant of her previously uninhabited armchair.

Sarah nearly swallowed her spoon.

Doing her best to hack it back up before it wound up in a lung, Sarah squinted tearily at the fuzzy blonde thing lounging in her lazyboy, and hoped that what she _thought_ just happened hadn't really. Hoped that the one man in her life who she'd managed to get the better of hadn't just popped while she was at her worst, hadn't just heard her bemoaning her ill circumstances –

Hadn't just watched her accidentally drool chocolate drizzle all over her silk pj's…

Wiping her eyes, and surreptitiously trying to cover up any drooly incidents, Sarah turned to the last guy she wanted to see right now and tried to not look pathetic.

"Have you never heard of a door?" she demanded.

"Certainly, but waiting outside a door implies a certain formality and unfamiliarity," he replied. "You and I are far more intimate than _doors_, Sarah mine."

She sputtered a little more. "Intimate, my ass! I haven't even heard gossip about you in five years, and I haven't _seen_ you in twice that! We are so non-intimate that there should be _three_ doors, and possibly an electric fence!"

He tutted. "Now, don't cheapen what happened between us with silly things like the passage of time. You know how little that means to someone with my talents."

Sarah glared venomously, brandishing her spoon. "Nothing happened between us! And do you _really_ want to be bringing up your _talents_ with me right now?"

Jareth looked properly chastised. "In fact, no. I did not come in my capacity as the Goblin King, and for the time being, I technically have very few _talents_ and even less inclination to use them."

Frowning, she kept her spoon leveled at him threateningly. "Why _are_ you here?"

"I caught wind of a pity party, and I wondered if it could use another participant," he said, and suddenly, she realized he looked older, more worn – He had circles under his eyes and crows feet in their corners, his lips were thin and chewed nearly raw as though by a nervous habit, and his hair seemed lank and deflated. Sarah blamed her shock and mild despair for not noticing his haggard appearance earlier.

Lowering her spoon, she considered this. He obviously wasn't here to gloat over her, not looking like _that_, and how bad must things be for him if he'd come to _her_ for companionship?

After a brief debate whose outcome was decided before she'd really started, she scooted over on the couch and lifted the side of her blanket invitingly. It sucked to need comfort and not have anyone, and she wasn't about to inflict that sort of awfulness on anyone else. He was helping her as much as she was helping him, anyways.

"I'm only sharing my ice cream with you if you promise not to get glitter in it," she warned. Jareth blinked disbelievingly for a moment, as though he'd never really expected her to say yes, and gingerly moved to sit next to her. Sarah smiled inwardly as he kept a few inches of space between them under the blanket, barely even close enough to feel his body heat.

Scooching closer to him, she offered the container of chocolate salvation and smiled softly.

"So," she prompted. "Tell me why _your_ life sucks."

* * *

**A/N: **D'awww... Cuddle time. :D


	26. 11: Memory

**Disclaimer: **Zippity-ay as well, I'm afraid.

This one is a bit darker, and sort of out of my area of expertise. I have mixed feelings about the Older Sarah Who Let Jareth Pass Her By stories, and therefore this is my first attempt at one... We'll see how it goes.

**ALSO: **For those of you who didn't see the notice on my profile (Which I'm sure is most of you - I hardly ever go to profiles myself) if you got a weird reply from someone named Rauni, I apologize - it was a mixup on my part and the message _is _from me. Feel free to message me for further apologies and explanations.

Challenge # 11: Memory

* * *

I sat on my bed, facing my dresser and looking at the box.

It was deceptively small, its diminutive size belying the value of its contents. The appearance was also misleading. Crafted out of some light wood and stained black, its corners were worn smooth and nearly the entire surface was pockmarked and scratched. Red silk that looked too fragile to survive a good cry, much less twenty years, padded the lid and panels on all four sides, embroidered in delicate, fraying gold stitching.

The box trembled.

It looked small and sad and insignificant, and it had successfully created a barrier between my most horrible, wonderful, toe-tingling and heart-wrenching memories and that lonely hour in the middle of the night for the last two decades. Its work might be over tonight. For me, anyways.

Twenty years ago, when I had woken up from my dream of something more, I realized I was broken inside. There was something missing, a fissure way down in the part of me that _knows_ things, and once I knew about it, I couldn't ignore it, like the ticking of a particularly annoying clock. I tried shoving it down, filling it with temporary materials, but it only grew, stretching until the fissure was a fault line and my mind was one tremor away from shattering.

My father sent me to my mother, and after one look at me, Linda gave me the box.

And in it, I put the Labyrinth.

Once I had forgotten, I could live in my world again. Sometimes there was a little whisper down inside, the wind blowing through the barren valley of banished truths, but I could ignore it. I could pretend I didn't _know_, pretend I hadn't _seen_, pretend that I was happy and fulfilled and go on with my PTA meetings and carpooling. Rarely did I truly _remember_, but when I did, I stayed up the rest of the night and wished I didn't have to forget.

And now, I might get that wish.

I should have been more careful. I knew better than to carelessly wish.

Down the hall, I heard Angie turn in her sleep fitfully, a whimper trembling in her voice as she called his name.

_His_ name.

Damn him.

She'd turned seventeen last month. She was a good girl, but she wasn't handling her father's death well. She'd become argumentative and confrontational, retreating more and more into her stories and artwork. I'd found a small red book in her bag a few weeks ago.

And two days later, Angie had changed.

She was less angry. She doted on her little sister, brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead when she thought I wasn't looking, promised to always keep her safe when she was scared. She was more adjusted and helpful.

But she was less Angie.

She had a fissure.

I stood slowly, trying not to notice how empty the other side of the bed was. Walked to my dresser, raised a hand and ran a finger over the stained black latch. The box quieted under my touch, like a pet being soothed.

When Linda had given me the box, she had taken her memories back. I'd seen a light in her eyes that hadn't been there before, a sudden youth in her movements. She'd been filled again, for a brief while, but it had faded. The next time I visited her, she was older than her age, worn and tired and shrinking.

I wouldn't let that happen to me. My mother had nothing to hold off the memories with – no husband, a failing career, her only daughter half a country away and uninterested. But not me. I had my girls.

My fingers flipped the latch, and I remembered.

* * *

I wasn't sleeping when Mom came in, but I pretended I was anyways. He was tearing at me too much to talk to her right now – the middle of the night was always the worst. It was like he got stronger the darker the night was. I hated it and loved it at the same time, wanted _so bad_ to go back, but dreaded the idea of ever seeing any of it again. It was like we were magnets, and I could feel the far side of it pulling at me, but the side facing me was repelling me too strongly to go to it.

Mom has been giving me funny looks lately, and I'm sure she probably thinks I'm on drugs or something, but it's not like I can explain it to her. Then she'd _really_ think I was on drugs. So I just keep my eyes closed and pretend like I don't want to cry and scream and bury myself in her lap like I used to as a kid.

She sits on the edge of my bed, like she can hear my thoughts, and pushes my hair back. She whispers my name, and I open my eyes without really meaning to.

"This will help," she says, and hands me this little red and black box. It's really old and kind of shabby looking, and I'm careful when I take it. I look at her and she gives me a sad smile.

* * *

Angie was gone three days later.

I went into her room to wake her for school and saw her bed empty, but shoddily made. There was a note on her pillow.

_Mom – _

_I can't use the box. I'm sorry. I'm going back. _

_Don't worry for me, I'll be fine. He said he'd take care of everyone's concerns. I think he's erasing me. I don't actually know if you'll remember me or not. I hope so. I'll try to see you sometimes. _

_The box is on my dresser. I hope it still works for you. _

_I love you. Thanks for everything._

_Angie_

I smile, glad for her. I wish I'd had her courage. My brave little Angie, strong and bright. She'll do fine. But…

"Jareth," I whisper, but it isn't an optional summon. I've never called him before, but I'm sure he'll come. He's got my baby, after all.

I feel when he's behind me, but I don't turn around. I can't look at him without breaking down.

"Take care of her. Or I will know," I said. "And if you thought the damage was bad last time…" I let the threat hang open ended, and I know he's smiling. Then he's gone, and I open the box.

Inside, I put a small red book. I'll be keeping my memories, this time.

* * *

**A/N: **Feedback is much appreciated. :) I promise to reply as myself, this time.


	27. 77 : Test

Sarah sat at her desk in the library, surrounded by cascading mounds of paperwork, all of which had to be read and filed and sent and sorted, and most of which should have been done ages ago.

She finished reading the paper in front of her and signed it with a triumphant flourish, moving it to the 'finished' pile. Pausing a moment, she relished in the sense of accomplishment before moving back to the endless 'pending' pile.

Sighing, she reluctantly pulled another tedious aspect of goblin monarchy onto her desk -

And paused, a tingle on the back of her neck alerting her to another body in the room.

Casting an inconspicuous glance over her shoulder, she suppressed a grin and pretended not to have noticed the shadow of a short, slender figure hiding behind the bookshelf. Sarah continued to blithely muddle through her paperwork as the shadow crept forward until it revealed a small boy with a mop of unruly dark curls, a smile so mischievous it could set fire to a Bible at fifty paces, and ice blue eyes that danced with light and intelligence.

He slid forward with all the grace and stealth of a hunting cat, grinning as he neared the Goblin Queen -

Sarah whirled as he came within arm's reach and scooped him up, attacking his sides with nimble fingers, crowing in victory as her attacker writhed in ticklish agony.

"Assaulting the Queen, huh? That's a punishable offence, young sir," she informed him. "I am going to tickle you within an inch o your life, bud! Whatcha gonna do about _that, _huh?"

He shrieked, scrambling away from her and laughing as he danced out of her reach. "I'm a prince! You can't hurt me either!" he shrilled, his voice so high that Sarah momentarily worried for all the glass in the room.

"Touché, you little devil." Sarah grinned at him. "Did you sneak away from Daddy again?"

The little boy nodded enthusiastically. "He thinks I'm in the gardens still," he declared proudly, his inexperienced mouth mangling the words slightly. He was so advanced for a four-year-old - and while she was immensely proud, Sarah was glad that his baby lisp hadn't faded yet.

She nodded approvingly. "That's three times this week. You're getting better." She scooted back, patting her lap invitingly. "Come here."

He bounced over to her, climbing into her lap an settling happily against her. Sarah smiled and kissed his hair.

"How would you like to help Mommy with her paperwork?"

"Oh! Can I do the stamps?" he asked excitedly. Sarah grinned, arming him with the appropriate seals and inkpads.

"Sure, kiddo. So, should we approve the invitation to Aunt Leann's ball, or veto?"

"Veto, definitely."

o0o

The crystal burst, and I looked anywhere but at Jareth.

"I think we can handle a child, love," he said as he brushed the remnants of our test-run-bubble off of the bedsheets, just a _tad_ too smug for my liking.

"I notice you didn't use a night where he had nightmares and had to sleep in between us. And then had a lapse in his potty training progress," I said sourly.

Jareth made a non-commital noise and kissed my neck. I scooted away from him, shoving a pillow in his face.

"Lips to yourself, mister, until you agree not to 'accidentally' knock me up."

Batting the pillow aside, he gave me his best set of pleading puppy eyes.

I growled.

"Sarah, my love, not only is it my duty to produce an heir, but I've _always _dreamed of a family. After all the dreams I have granted, should I not have one of my own?"

"But I don't want to be _fat_, Jareth!" I protested.

He blinked at me for a moment. "You're concerned for your figure?"

I crossed my arms, trying not to look petulant. "Well, I kind of enjoy being able to turn you on whenever I want. It's not an ability I'm eager to give up."

Jareth laughed. "Sarah! Why would you ever think that your being with child, _my _child, would make you less able to effect my libido?"

I gave him a wide-eyed look of incredulity. "How could I not? There is no _way_ you'd find me attractive with a small blimp in my belly."

"I beg to differ, Sarah mine," he said, eyes glittering, and leaned closer to me, sliding his fingers down my sides and over my hips.

"Jareth, _I_ won't find me attractive while I'm waddling about like a well-fed walrus. I highly doubt _you _would."

"Sarah, my precious, _precious_ thing," he cajoled, smoothing his hands over my legs and moving slowly back upwards, "how could I find you anything but maddeningly beautiful with the physical embodiment of our love growing inside you?" he said, and stroked my stomach, just low enough to make me tingle. I glared.

"Beautiful is not the same thing as sexy, Jareth," I pointed out.

He chuckled. "My darling, I sincerely doubt that there is _anything_ you could do to make yourself undesirable to me," he grinned, and dipped down to nip my ear.

"Sure, you say that now, but when I'm fat enough to smuggle a gaggle of goblins under my dress…"

There was suddenly a crystal before my eyes, filled with Jareth and I in a rather compromising position - and I was clearly with child. And Jareth was clearly _excited _about this.

I blushed and batted the damned thing away.

"Are there any other excuses you'd care to try, love?" he smirked. I glowered at him as I pushed him back and climbed on top.

"Keep up the smart-ass remarks, and you're going to be _incapable_ of producing an heir, pal," I threatened.

Jareth grinned. "So I take it you've changed your mind?"

I leaned down and kissed him teasingly. "I'll think about it."


End file.
